Three weeks ago on a Thursday, I called all of my doctor offices and got prescription refills sorted out. Text messages started flying into my phone that various prescriptions were ready (I have a chronic disease that requires a number of medications to keep me alive and well-managed). My boss stopped in to tell me something while I was on hold--in that rare moment with the walkie talkie wasn't squawking with a teacher in need of support or a visitor at the front desk--and asked me, "Are you getting ready?"
"Yes. I'm getting ready," I answered, embarrassed that I had to take two minutes for a personal phone call.
"Good," she said. "You need to be ready."
She totally gets it.
That Friday, I went to my local warehouse club after school (hot weekend plans, obvs) and walked up and down the aisles while I thought to myself, "Is that someone I can reproduce? Do I need to buy that, or can I make that from scratch? Do I have the freezer space for that?"
I walked out with a bail of toilet paper (we had enough paper towels), a case of tomato sauce (I have no interest in making that), a case of canned tuna (hello, college survival tuna melts), three dozen eggs (they only sell them in three dozen bundles), a bag of flour, and a bag of sugar. The only thing I really saw missing from the shelves was the chicken noodle soup. "No biggie," I thought. "I can make that so easily." I went online and ordered dog food and the ever-popular peanut butter pill pockets for the Stout Nation Pups.
The next day, I went to the grocery store for our regular weekly groceries and bought an extra box of butter, an extra carton of milk (the kind we buy has a long shelf life...like until May), picked up an extra two onions, and a package of fresh mint. Nothing says "springtime" to me more than cucumber mint infused water.
Life continued. I watched on social media as more and more data-watching-agencies reported rising numbers of those being infected with COVID-19 around the world. I unpacked all of my prescriptions into their proper storage areas (I'm telling ya, it's A LOT) and took an inventory to make sure I had everything I needed for the next 90 days to--quite literally--stay alive.
I went to school. I loved on our students. I didn't do much thinking about the interruption that could come, because it wasn't time...yet. My thoughts were consumed with the impending standardized testing, a busy spring calendar, and supporting our staff as they dreamed big dreams for our tiny humans. To be perfectly honest, I was also planning my costume for how I would be Julia Child to help our 3rd graders kick off their biography unit on the Monday after Spring Break (think of a living wax museum display, visiting each of our 5 language arts classrooms, complete with costume, wig, and a VOILA! moment to display her kid-friendly biography book on a silver serving tray. Oh, and lipstick.).
Spring break came and our district made the difficult decision to cancel school for the following week. I breathed a sigh of relief--one week where my compromised immune system would be protected. And then--only a few days later--we received the news that we'd be cancelled until Easter. I thought of our contract employees. I thought of our students. I thought of the individual teachers that would be struggling with this decision and the world around them for various reasons.
And then, my thoughts turned to Julia Child and I mentally took inventory of how much butter I had in my fridge.
I'm a WASP gal, through and through. In a crisis, my oven is almost always on. I have something for my hands to do. The washing machine is going. The dishwasher hardly stops. All of these things have remained true during the COVID-19 social distancing.
The Stout Nation Pups will no doubt need therapy when this is all over, because they're becoming more co-dependent on their humans the longer we're home with them. And, these days, we're home 24/7 because Stout Nation is certainly observing social distancing. The Pups are awful at it (see photo).
Three of us from school have been video, phone, and text conferencing with each other about our next steps as we move forward to support our community. Often times, I wish I could write about the process we go through when making decisions for our community and each factor that goes into the creation of a plan. The number one thing that holds me back from doing that--rightfully so--is confidentiality. I want to protect the professionals, students, and families with whom I work, so we aren't really ever able to share the entire process. And that's okay! I knew that going into this role.
My thoughts return again to Julia Child. She's been quoted saying:
You don't have to cook fancy or complicated masterpieces - just good food from fresh ingredients.
So, here is my recipe of fresh ingredients to get through to the other side of the COVID-19 pandemic and the decisions that are being made for/with/by us:
3 1/2 cups of patience
3/4 cup of grace
3/4 cup of packed trust
1/2 cup hope
1/4 cup sifted courage
3 Tablespoons fresh grit (can substitute Houston oak tree pollen, if needed)
1 Tablespoon determination
1 teaspoon calm
1/4 teaspoon joy
1 cup melted butter
Blend ingredients together in a large bowl with a wooden spoon until mixture is just combined. Cover and let rise in a warm place for about 60 minutes. Bake at 98.6 Fahrenheit until toothpick comes out clean.
Be well.